A/N: I'm sorry this came out so late, between being sick and work, I had no
time to write this week. But it's here now. So enjoy. Also, thank you for
all your wonderful reviews, and keep 'em coming!
"Fair Game" 2/2
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Monday – 6:24 a.m.
There was no conversation in the room. There was no need or desire for it. All were left to contemplate, as they had the long night, on the events that led to this.
The beeping had sped up slightly, giving a spark of hope to an otherwise bleak room. The doctor had not mentioned anything, and Grissom thought that it was perhaps because Greg's chances had not improved as they would all assume, his body was simply making a last-ditch effort and he was going to die in an hour.
He didn't know, but he began to wish an end to this. How long had he been sitting here, watching over the living corpse of a friend and colleague? How long before that corpse was no longer living?
Glancing briefly at Greg's parents, he wished for a brief moment that they would leave. He could not ask them to, of course, Greg was their only child, but the strain seemed to be killing them.
Mrs. Sanders looked so pale as to be translucent. Grissom fancied he could see every one of her veins, especially in her hands. Hands clutching her gloves with a fierceness that one would not have thought possible from such a fragile looking woman.
Mr. Sanders looked like he was about to cry. Or fall over. Grissom thought perhaps he should offer his seat to David, but decided against it. Likely the only way he would accept the seat is if Grissom left entirely, which he had no intention of doing.
Greg had been, was, his responsibility, he wouldn't shirk it at this late stage, not when he'd failed so spectacularly in the first place.
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Thursday – 4:57 p.m.
He woke suddenly, alert in a moment. He glanced around quickly to see what had woken him, and relaxed back when he realized it was someone's coffee, the machine was beeping. He checked his watch, startled when he saw that he'd slept two hours. He'd thought that he wouldn't get any at all, but obviously he wasn't as troubled as he'd thought. Or his body had rebelled and knocked him out in protest.
Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead for a moment, wishing it had all been a bad dream. But outside the glass enclosed space he could see many employees of the lab, for more than there should have been at any given time.
Some were working, but most were sitting and talking. Some looked panicky, but most seemed calm, if worried or angry.
He got up, getting himself a cup of the freshly made coffee. With a pang, he realized it was Greg's Hawaiian Blue that he had left behind with a smile, saying they'd need it.
Greg hadn't known how right he'd been.
Pouring himself a cup, Grissom left the breakroom in search of more clues, leads, anything, that had been picked up from the various incidents.
Finding Ecklie, he found that dayshift had had no success in tracing anything with the bomb. All the parts had been generic, easy to buy, easy to find items, and with the hundreds bought by credit card, it was unlikely that they would find the Lunatic using them. And that wasn't even counting the cash purchases.
There had been no clue to Lindsey's kidnapping, except for a single hair. Unfortunately, the hair was short a skin tag. So they weren't sure if it even belonged to their Lunatic. If it did, though, it was possible the man was a natural blonde.
The attack on Jacqui yielded up even fewer clues. No footprints, no fibres, no nothing. Brass hadn't gotten a good look at their masked man in the dark, so even what few clues he might have offered if it had been light wouldn't have helped much.
A man this clever would have found some way to disguise himself.
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Greg sat and watched the man gather some items from the table nearby. He had learned to gauge when the man's plan was going well, and when it wasn't. If it wasn't, Greg would quickly hear about it. If it was, Greg didn't even see him for long periods of time.
He looked around once more, trying to memorize his surroundings as best he could. He wasn't doing well; the world kept spinning and sliding away from him in a very rude manner. He would have told it off if he hadn't been gagged.
The man gave Greg a last grin before striding to the door and exiting the warehouse, leaving Greg alone once more.
Dizzily, he wondered if he should be worried. After all, a metal pipe and that video he had made couldn't bode well. Greg's cheek still burned from that knife, he imagined he could feel the razor edge slicing his skin open again and again. He was too disconnected from his body to feel further, which he decided was the only upside to his current situation.
He shook his head when he imagined hearing a child's laughter again. He hated that noise. It, before anything else, made him realize he was losing his mind, and he didn't like that thought. What did he have, if not his mind?
Wishing he could scream at the child to shut up, knowing that the drugs and gag prevented it, he sat in a distant misery, wanting nothing more than to go home.
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Nick sat at home, the television on, trying to distract himself. He had attempted sleep, failing miserably. Now he sat, trying not to think of Greg or Lindsey, Warrick or Jacqui, or anyone at the lab.
Images of death and destruction kept running through his head, his attempts so block them wholly unsuccessful. The lab explosion, Warrick's car, that phone call, then his mind ran on to hypothetical scenarios.
He saw, again and again, Jacqui's attack, only she was dead now, lying broken on the pavement. He saw the explosion - this time, Warrick and that poor receptionist lying dead at his feet, debris raining down around them.
He saw Greg, surprised and alone, taken unaware, dragged away, to have god only knew what depraved things done to him.
Lindsey, frightened, screaming, or perhaps drugged, knocked out, being dragged away, held with a man who had a vengeful agenda, unpredictable, insane.
Shaking his head, Nick got up, in search of some strong alcohol. He normally didn't drink beyond a beer or two, but right now, there was a definite need for something to numb his thoughts. Higher brain functions just were not wanted at the moment.
"Hello Nick. I'm glad we finally get to meet in person."
The cold voice sounded behind him, and Nick spun, reaching for his gun sitting on the counter. He didn't have time to reach it before something hard hit his head with a resounding crack, and then there was only darkness.
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Thursday – 7:19 p.m.
"Gil, there's been another attack."
Four words that brought his world to a grinding halt. "Another?" His voice was cracked, breathless. "Who?"
Brass looked equal parts furious, frustrated and pained. "Nicky. He got him in his own home."
Grissom wondered if the Lunatic had seen anything about Crane and that incident, then he wondered if Nick would ever be able to go back to that house again. Grissom doubted it.
Nick hadn't moved after Crane, much to the surprise of the team. He seemed alright, so no one questioned the decision. But after this, the second time...
"How is he?"
"He's at the hospital right now, He seems okay. They want to keep him overnight, but they said he'll be free to go tomorrow."
Grissom nodded, relieved. "We can see him?"
Brass shook his head. "They have him sedated right now, but he suffered some head trauma. They doubt he'll be able to remember much, if anything, of the attack."
"Where was the officer detailed to him?" Grissom's voice sharpened slightly, but there wasn't much energy behind it.
Brass shook his head slightly. "Right where he was supposed to be. Apparently, Nick had had the television on, and that was loud enough to mask the noise of the attack. Not his fault. He couldn't be everywhere at once. Nick had locked his doors, but we also found a spare key sitting on the counter. No fingerprints."
"I'm not sure if that's good or bad news." Grissom sighed and sat down on one of the lounges. Brass followed suit, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Gil, there's something else." Grissom looked an enquiry at him, but Brass wasn't looking back. "A videotape was left next to Nick."
"A tape. Do we know of what?"
"No one's watched it yet, Archie's trying to clean it up, there was blood all over it." Seeing Grissom's look, Brass sighed. "We don't know whose, we took samples, DNA are running them right now."
"We don't have a sample of Greg's." Grissom's mind was jumping right into the task at hand, siphoning off all his emotions. Sometimes he hated his job.
"We have Nick's and – Lindsey's."
"Where did we get Lindsey's?"
Brass smiled slightly. "School stuff. Got it pulled from the hospital."
Grissom nodded, then his head shot up. "Has everyone been brought back here?"
Brass shook his head. Grissom frowned.
"Why?"
"Because we think he wants us all here, Gil. If we keep some of us spread out, we have a better chance of getting this guy. He'll slip up, Ecklie and his lot have already found a shoeprint in Nick's place, one not matching any of Nick's own." Brass looked carefully at Grissom. "Get some sleep, Gil. You're tired, and tired people make mistakes."
Grissom knew that Brass was right, he knew it was his exhaustion speaking, but he still couldn't bring himself to go, to leave. It wasn't his safety he was worried about, the Lunatic had already made clear that it wasn't Grissom he wanted dead, it was everyone around him.
He wanted Gil to sit by helpless as his world was torn down and smashed to pieces right in front of him. He wanted Gil to feel helpless, impotent. Grissom sighed.
Well, the Lunatic was getting his wish.
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Monday – 6:51 a.m.
"Hey. Awake at last. And here, I thought I'd get to eat your breakfast."
Nick's smile was thin and strained, but there. Warrick lifted his hand to rub his eyes, changed his mind mid-air as memory hit, and instead settled for some rapid blinking.
"Hey man. What's up?" Warrick's voice was a little hoarse, but he smiled and gingerly leaned higher against the blankets.
"Well, lots. How much do you remember of Catherine's visit?" Nick looked carefully at his friend.
"Um, well..." Warrick closed his eyes, struggling to re-collect anything from the previous few days. "The last thing I remember was that I had just returned from that trip to the Penitentiary. I was going into the building, I said hi to Sammy, and then, it all just sort of... fades out. I don't really remember..." His eyes shop open suddenly and he tried to sit up.
"Sammy!" Warrick looked frantically at Nick's sorrowful face. He slumped back and sighed. "Damn. Did we at least get the basta- Greg!"
For the second time that morning, Warrick tried to sit bolt upright and failed. Didn't the saying go 'It's the thought that counts.' anyway? Nick sat back and scrubbed at his face. The night had been far too long for this.
They had all known the Warrick had been as high as a kite on the pain – and other – meds the doctors had given him, but that he'd forget everything after his own attack, well, that was difficult.
"We got Greg back. And Lindsey. Um, everyone is basically where they were when you went down. Except the Lunatic, his name is James Doyle, is now behind bars, right where he belongs. And, well, Jacqui. She... She didn't make it." Nick decided to leave it to someone else, or himself when he'd rested some, to tell Warrick the whole story.
Warrick nodded and relaxed, closing his eyes. A long sigh leaked slowly from him.
"Damn. Some days I hate this job."
Nick's inner voice silently agreed with Warrick's tired mutter.
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Friday – 1:47 a.m.
"...As you can see, he doesn't look so good, does he? And keep in mind who's in the other room, happily watching Agent Cody Banks and eating popcorn. As I told Mr. Stokes, I abhor the thought of harming a child, but a cornered animal does desperate things."
The man stopped speaking, grinning silently at the camera. Grissom hoped that that was the end. His hope was crushed when the man disappeared briefly, leaving a woozy looking Greg center stage for about a minute, returning with a long, sharp kitchen knife and a large bottle of some unidentified liquid.
He stepped behind the helpless lab tech, baring the knife once more for inspection by the camera, and by extension, those now held captive by the images recorded onto the tape.
Setting the knife against Greg's cheek, he suddenly pulled back in a vicious stroke, neatly severing the gag tied in Greg's mouth and leaving a long, deep gash in his face.
He then set the knife point first on Greg's shoulder, grinning again at the camera for long moments, then thrusting the knife deep in the screaming man's shoulder. Twisting once for good measure, the man pulled the knife from Greg and moved to the side.
The audience waited breathlessly. The man, once more grinning devilishly at the camera, lay the knife along Greg's thigh. Without a pause this time, he stabbed deeply, pulling the knife clear without any fuss.
Greg's cries were heart-rending to hear, and Grissom would not have been able to watch if he hadn't felt so guilty. Yes, he'd seen far more gruesome episodes in human history, recent and otherwise, but when it was someone you cared about, someone whom you saw every day, who you helped and depended on, it was so much worse.
The man waited until Greg had stopped screaming and was merely whimpering his pain through his drug-haze before opening the bottle and dousing Greg in it.
The tape cut on Greg's shrill cries.
The room was silent for long moments, the occupants trying to assimilate what they'd seen. And heard.
Grissom looked first to Archie, paper white and stiff. When he became aware of Grissom's gaze, he quietly excused himself. Looking next to Brass, Grissom saw some of his own emotions reflected in the other man's eyes. Hate, fury, frustration – guilt. The massive burden of Guilt. He turned away from his reflection, looking to the room's last occupant.
Sara stared back, pale but composed. He saw no guilt in her eyes. He saw only the fury building up within her, fuelled by the frustration and hate.
A silent agreement was passed between the three of them. The survivors so far, the ones who had the responsibility of protecting the others around them.
They wouldn't fail again.
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Monday – 7:04 a.m.
"But we did..." Grissom's voice was nearly inaudible, even to him, in the quiet room. Greg's parents still sat, lost in their thoughts. They hadn't moved in hours, and Grissom was sure that David had to have sore feet by now, but he felt it would be out of place to mention such a trivial thing.
He was relieved that neither of them had seemed to hear his whisper, they didn't know about the tape, at least, not its contents, and he wanted to keep it that way. No parent should ever have to see their child die, but to see his last, horrible, days, that was too cruel to allow.
The doctor quietly opened the door and looked around. Seeing the total lack of response, he stepped further into the room and cleared his throat. There was still nothing from David or Susan, though Grissom did look up.
"Excuse me..." The doctor's tentative words brought the grieving couple from their reverie. Smiling thinly, the doctor nodded at them, looking uncomfortable. "This is your son, Gregory Sanders?"
"Yes." Susan's voice was hoarse, and David only nodded.
"Um, well, we have some news on his condition. He's doing much better than we expected, and his chances for survival have increased."
To Grissom, those few words were a lifeline. Perhaps he hadn't failed so horribly after all. Perhaps he would live.
To Susan and David, those words were life. They had something to cling to now, no matter how tenuous it truly was, it was something. It was Hope.
"They haven't gone up much, we give him almost a one in ten chance of living the day, and less than that the night, but if he does, we give him a fifty/fifty chance of making it out the week." Looking at the two insanely hopeful faces before him, the doctor didn't wonder why he hated this part of his job the most. The parents didn't understand – or didn't care – just how small their son's chances were.
The other man though, he looked like he had expected something of the sort. He probably was a doctor, or something of the sort, mused Greg's doctor. Nodding once more, he left the grief-filled room.
He had other patients. Life did go on, after all.
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Friday – 12:04 p.m.
"Gil! Gil, I think we have something!"
Catherine was dashing down the corridor towards him, clutching a small piece of paper to her chest. Grissom didn't even have time to contemplate the very un-Catherine like behaviour before she stopped right in front of him, panting slightly.
"We have a match," she said slightly breathlessly, "a credit card purchase for a part of the timing device. Small, but we've nailed cases on less than this."
Grissom looked into Catherine's eyes and saw, over and over, Greg, screaming, tied to a chair. He felt anger bubble up and quickly suppressed it. Filling it's place came a sudden wave of exultation.
"Who?"
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Monday – 8:19 a.m.
Grissom quietly excused himself from the small room. He could stand the quiet beeping of Greg's life ticking away, he could stand his own guilt smothering him like a blanket, he could. He was used to that, to death, the dying. But there was one thing that he could not stand, to the point that he didn't even want to admit it to himself.
Perhaps it was his fear that had prevented him from accepting Sara's offer, even if he only admitted that to himself. Perhaps it was his fear that forced him into a self-created seclusion.
Perhaps it was his fear that kept him from calling about Sara; it was easier to just stay away. To not be connected.
As he slowly walked down the corridor, intent on the coffee machine at the end of the tunnel, he felt his mind examine his fear, as minds are wont to do. He shied away from it, for hope was the most fearful thing of all.
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Friday – 1:13 p.m.
"Open up, police!" Brass' cry rang out as the two uniforms battered down the door to the small townhouse. Dropping the ram, they pulled their guns and rushed forward to clear the house.
Hanging back slightly, Sara and Grissom pulled out their guns. Catherine looked like she was ready to bolt inside, regardless of any masked Lunatics lurking in the shadows.
After a few moments, Brass stepped outside, shaking his head and frowning. "Dammit!" He punched the door and strode off to the patrol car, pulling out his radio and updating dispatch of the events.
Grissom and Sara traded looks as they holstered their guns and picked up their kits, hoping to find something of use in their case.
Three hours later, they had enough evidence to match any more samples brought in, and enough to try and match what they already had.
"Let's go." Grissom's quiet words in Catherine's ear went unheeded.
"I've got something." Catherine bent down and pulled a small hair from the rug in the bathroom.
"Cath, I know this is difficult-"
"You know squat." Catherine's voice turned harsh. "That Lunatic has my daughter, and one of my friends. He's hurt those people around me that I care about, and even though he seems to be trying to be nice to my child, he's still a murdering nut. So you'll excuse me if I'm trying to be thorough."
She glared up at his impassive eyes, knowing that they had done all they could here, and not caring in the least. She turned back to the carpet.
"I'll have you removed from the case."
"Oh, really," her voice was sarcastic, "what, you going to cite personal involvement? We're all involved Gil, and it's incredibly lucky we are that the Powers That Be haven't taken the case away from us yet. So don't go all moral on me. It's my daughter's life on the line, and I'm going to do everything in my power to get the bastard that took her from me."
She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and sagged. "Sorry." She mumbled, suddenly ashamed of her outburst. "Stressed a little, y'know?"
Gil knelt down beside her, feeling out of his depth once more. "We will get him. Lindsey will be okay, Greg will be okay, Warrick will be okay, Nick is okay."
"Yeah, I know." She sighed and dropped the hair. "Let's go and get some justice."
She smiled at him, and accepted his hand as she got to her feet.
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Friday – 6:46 p.m.
"We got him, Gil." Brass stood just inside the layout room where Grissom was poring over the various bills and letter and other evidence for the umpteenth time. His heart leapt at the pronouncement, but wisdom tempered it as he took in Brass' less than enthusiastic face.
"What did he do?" Grissom's voce was steady and calm, unlike his pulse.
"He made a mistake. The one we were waiting for. He did go after another team member, Sara this time." Brass paused and stepped over to the table, opposite Grissom.
"And?" Grissom prompted.
Brass' eyes flashed once then looked regretful. "We got him, but not before he got Sara. She's not dead," Brass quickly cut off the shock that spread through Grissom's body, putting it on hold, "he didn't deliver a fatal blow, but he did get her. His knife hit her spine, they think, and they had to move her immediately to the closest hospital that could deal with her kind of injury. There was some internal damage that no hospital in the area is equipped to handle, apparently. She was airlifted about forty-five minutes ago to a hospital in Chicago."
Brass waited while Grissom processed the new information. He prepared to answer any questions about Sara's condition that he could, and any secondary questions about Doyle.
His preparation was in the wrong areas though.
"What about Greg and Lindsey? Do we know where they are yet?"
Brass shook his head. "They should be starting the interview any minute now. Doyle so far has said he will only talk to you."
Grissom nodded once and sat for a moment more. "I want to sit in." He stood up and headed for the door, Brass following.
Sighing, Brass watched Grissom stride down the hall, knowing that he had expected such a decision, and he quickly caught up with the scientist, offering to drive, taking Grissom's silence as consent.
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Friday – 7:32 p.m.
"Where are they. It's been hours since you were last there, and I'm betting you have them locked up. If they starve, you'll have that many more deaths on your head. Maybe if you co-operate, we can cut you a deal."
The homicide detective was having no luck. Doyle refused to speak, except to say he would only talk to Gil Grissom.
From the steady gaze on the mirror, Grissom knew that Doyle knew he was there, knew that he was watching, waiting. And Grissom also knew that he couldn't wait for however long it would take his team to track down where the missing pair were, he needed to find them now, to know they were all right.
He did have emotions, and right now, they were screaming at him to do something.
"I'll talk to him." Grissom's eyes never left Doyle's as he spoke to the Sheriff and Brass.
"You aren't going in there alone." The Sheriff's voice was firm, and Grissom glanced at him. "You're taking Brass."
"His aim isn't to hurt me, not physically."
"I don't care. He's deranged. You are taking Brass or you aren't going at all."
Grissom knew he wasn't going to win, but he also felt that Doyle wouldn't say anything if they weren't alone. Looking at the Sheriff's face, he sighed inwardly. A stiff nod was the only answer that Atwater got before Grissom left the room, Brass following.
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"So, now you have me here. Are you going to talk?"
Grissom sat across from James Doyle, Brass standing behind him in the shadows. Doyle glanced at Brass once before turning his full attention to Grissom.
"Do you remember my case? The investigation that ruined my life."
"I do." Grissom steady gaze never left Doyle's face. "Your boss was murdered. Then your supervisor."
Doyle nodded. "And you geniuses thought I did it. You pulled me in, arrested me, sent me to jail for two years, cost me my job, my marriage, my friends."
"They couldn't have been very good friends if they deserted you like that." Brass sounded sarcastic, completely pitiless.
Doyle glared briefly at Brass. "When you lot finally found some 'exonerating' evidence, finally declared the case unsolved, no one would believe I didn't do it. You scared away my wife, she divorced me, and she won full custody of our kids, my kids. I don't get to see them anymore. She moved away, across the country. I had to leave the area, everyone acted like I was a killer, I tried to follow her but she got a restraining order against me. And with that on my record, no respectable place would hire me. My life went down the drain, all because of you, Gil Grissom. I'm innocent, and you put me away for that."
Hate shone through the fury in Doyle's eyes, but Grissom didn't care in the least. Maybe, in another time and place, he would feel guilt over this man's life being ruined over a mistake, one he had made, but not after what this scum had done to his friends and family.
"You claim to be innocent. And yet you have taken two lives, and injured many more. Innocent people, who you had no quarrel with. So I don't give a damn if you were innocent or not. I don't give a damn if you think you're a justice seeker. What you did was far worse than anything I ever did to you."
Grissom stood up, his own anger now showing. "One of my lab-techs died fifteen minutes ago, and she didn't even know why you attacked her. There is a woman in hospital right now, and she may not live, and even if she does live, she will probably never walk again. You murdered a completely innocent person, a receptionist, for no reason other then your own self- involved bitterness. One of my team is in hospital, doped to the eyebrows because of your bomb. And you are holding a member of my team and an innocent little girl. So no, you aren't innocent. You are scum, a dangerous lunatic, and I don't care why anymore. You don't concern me. My friends concern me."
He leaned close to Doyle, his nose inches from the other man's face. Grissom's voice, when he spoke next, was low and deadly.
"Tell me where they are."
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Monday – 10:57 a.m.
Catherine slipped quietly into Greg's room. She had seen Lindsey briefly, reassured her and told her again how much she loved her. When the doctor had shooed Catherine away quietly, she had debated going home for some rest and quickly decided against it.
Instead, she headed up to see how Greg was doing, feeling that familiar pang of guilt.
Gil sat in the same chair he'd been in when she'd left, and Nick had returned.
"How's Warrick?" Catherine's voice, just above a whisper, seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.
"He's doing alright. I told him about Jacqui. And everything. He didn't remember your visit. He's resting now."
Catherine nodded and moved to sit in a chair next to Nick. A nurse had probably brought it in seeing how many people were in there.
Silence filled the space, and a tension started to build as the beeping slowed slightly. Catherine felt her heart jump every time the next tone sounded, waiting for it to continue.
Or stop.
Nick thought he's suffocate, the lump in his throat had grown so large.
Grissom felt like he'd eaten some rocks, or perhaps some heavy butterflies.
Susan and David simply waited, silent and still. Blank.
Beep... beep... beep.... beep.... beep.........
The End
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A/N: Well, it's over. I hope you liked it, I liked writing it. I'm not sure this part was as good as the first, but I did my best. It is unbeta'd, so again, all mistakes are my own. Please R&R, it doesn't take long, and it really does make me feel that this is a worthwhile pastime.
I hope I explained everything well enough, and just in case anyone was wondering, the receptionist is Sammy, I don't think I referred to her by name anywhere except with Warrick, so I hope you can forgive me that.
"Fair Game" 2/2
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Monday – 6:24 a.m.
There was no conversation in the room. There was no need or desire for it. All were left to contemplate, as they had the long night, on the events that led to this.
The beeping had sped up slightly, giving a spark of hope to an otherwise bleak room. The doctor had not mentioned anything, and Grissom thought that it was perhaps because Greg's chances had not improved as they would all assume, his body was simply making a last-ditch effort and he was going to die in an hour.
He didn't know, but he began to wish an end to this. How long had he been sitting here, watching over the living corpse of a friend and colleague? How long before that corpse was no longer living?
Glancing briefly at Greg's parents, he wished for a brief moment that they would leave. He could not ask them to, of course, Greg was their only child, but the strain seemed to be killing them.
Mrs. Sanders looked so pale as to be translucent. Grissom fancied he could see every one of her veins, especially in her hands. Hands clutching her gloves with a fierceness that one would not have thought possible from such a fragile looking woman.
Mr. Sanders looked like he was about to cry. Or fall over. Grissom thought perhaps he should offer his seat to David, but decided against it. Likely the only way he would accept the seat is if Grissom left entirely, which he had no intention of doing.
Greg had been, was, his responsibility, he wouldn't shirk it at this late stage, not when he'd failed so spectacularly in the first place.
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Thursday – 4:57 p.m.
He woke suddenly, alert in a moment. He glanced around quickly to see what had woken him, and relaxed back when he realized it was someone's coffee, the machine was beeping. He checked his watch, startled when he saw that he'd slept two hours. He'd thought that he wouldn't get any at all, but obviously he wasn't as troubled as he'd thought. Or his body had rebelled and knocked him out in protest.
Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead for a moment, wishing it had all been a bad dream. But outside the glass enclosed space he could see many employees of the lab, for more than there should have been at any given time.
Some were working, but most were sitting and talking. Some looked panicky, but most seemed calm, if worried or angry.
He got up, getting himself a cup of the freshly made coffee. With a pang, he realized it was Greg's Hawaiian Blue that he had left behind with a smile, saying they'd need it.
Greg hadn't known how right he'd been.
Pouring himself a cup, Grissom left the breakroom in search of more clues, leads, anything, that had been picked up from the various incidents.
Finding Ecklie, he found that dayshift had had no success in tracing anything with the bomb. All the parts had been generic, easy to buy, easy to find items, and with the hundreds bought by credit card, it was unlikely that they would find the Lunatic using them. And that wasn't even counting the cash purchases.
There had been no clue to Lindsey's kidnapping, except for a single hair. Unfortunately, the hair was short a skin tag. So they weren't sure if it even belonged to their Lunatic. If it did, though, it was possible the man was a natural blonde.
The attack on Jacqui yielded up even fewer clues. No footprints, no fibres, no nothing. Brass hadn't gotten a good look at their masked man in the dark, so even what few clues he might have offered if it had been light wouldn't have helped much.
A man this clever would have found some way to disguise himself.
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Greg sat and watched the man gather some items from the table nearby. He had learned to gauge when the man's plan was going well, and when it wasn't. If it wasn't, Greg would quickly hear about it. If it was, Greg didn't even see him for long periods of time.
He looked around once more, trying to memorize his surroundings as best he could. He wasn't doing well; the world kept spinning and sliding away from him in a very rude manner. He would have told it off if he hadn't been gagged.
The man gave Greg a last grin before striding to the door and exiting the warehouse, leaving Greg alone once more.
Dizzily, he wondered if he should be worried. After all, a metal pipe and that video he had made couldn't bode well. Greg's cheek still burned from that knife, he imagined he could feel the razor edge slicing his skin open again and again. He was too disconnected from his body to feel further, which he decided was the only upside to his current situation.
He shook his head when he imagined hearing a child's laughter again. He hated that noise. It, before anything else, made him realize he was losing his mind, and he didn't like that thought. What did he have, if not his mind?
Wishing he could scream at the child to shut up, knowing that the drugs and gag prevented it, he sat in a distant misery, wanting nothing more than to go home.
-------------
Nick sat at home, the television on, trying to distract himself. He had attempted sleep, failing miserably. Now he sat, trying not to think of Greg or Lindsey, Warrick or Jacqui, or anyone at the lab.
Images of death and destruction kept running through his head, his attempts so block them wholly unsuccessful. The lab explosion, Warrick's car, that phone call, then his mind ran on to hypothetical scenarios.
He saw, again and again, Jacqui's attack, only she was dead now, lying broken on the pavement. He saw the explosion - this time, Warrick and that poor receptionist lying dead at his feet, debris raining down around them.
He saw Greg, surprised and alone, taken unaware, dragged away, to have god only knew what depraved things done to him.
Lindsey, frightened, screaming, or perhaps drugged, knocked out, being dragged away, held with a man who had a vengeful agenda, unpredictable, insane.
Shaking his head, Nick got up, in search of some strong alcohol. He normally didn't drink beyond a beer or two, but right now, there was a definite need for something to numb his thoughts. Higher brain functions just were not wanted at the moment.
"Hello Nick. I'm glad we finally get to meet in person."
The cold voice sounded behind him, and Nick spun, reaching for his gun sitting on the counter. He didn't have time to reach it before something hard hit his head with a resounding crack, and then there was only darkness.
-------------
Thursday – 7:19 p.m.
"Gil, there's been another attack."
Four words that brought his world to a grinding halt. "Another?" His voice was cracked, breathless. "Who?"
Brass looked equal parts furious, frustrated and pained. "Nicky. He got him in his own home."
Grissom wondered if the Lunatic had seen anything about Crane and that incident, then he wondered if Nick would ever be able to go back to that house again. Grissom doubted it.
Nick hadn't moved after Crane, much to the surprise of the team. He seemed alright, so no one questioned the decision. But after this, the second time...
"How is he?"
"He's at the hospital right now, He seems okay. They want to keep him overnight, but they said he'll be free to go tomorrow."
Grissom nodded, relieved. "We can see him?"
Brass shook his head. "They have him sedated right now, but he suffered some head trauma. They doubt he'll be able to remember much, if anything, of the attack."
"Where was the officer detailed to him?" Grissom's voice sharpened slightly, but there wasn't much energy behind it.
Brass shook his head slightly. "Right where he was supposed to be. Apparently, Nick had had the television on, and that was loud enough to mask the noise of the attack. Not his fault. He couldn't be everywhere at once. Nick had locked his doors, but we also found a spare key sitting on the counter. No fingerprints."
"I'm not sure if that's good or bad news." Grissom sighed and sat down on one of the lounges. Brass followed suit, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Gil, there's something else." Grissom looked an enquiry at him, but Brass wasn't looking back. "A videotape was left next to Nick."
"A tape. Do we know of what?"
"No one's watched it yet, Archie's trying to clean it up, there was blood all over it." Seeing Grissom's look, Brass sighed. "We don't know whose, we took samples, DNA are running them right now."
"We don't have a sample of Greg's." Grissom's mind was jumping right into the task at hand, siphoning off all his emotions. Sometimes he hated his job.
"We have Nick's and – Lindsey's."
"Where did we get Lindsey's?"
Brass smiled slightly. "School stuff. Got it pulled from the hospital."
Grissom nodded, then his head shot up. "Has everyone been brought back here?"
Brass shook his head. Grissom frowned.
"Why?"
"Because we think he wants us all here, Gil. If we keep some of us spread out, we have a better chance of getting this guy. He'll slip up, Ecklie and his lot have already found a shoeprint in Nick's place, one not matching any of Nick's own." Brass looked carefully at Grissom. "Get some sleep, Gil. You're tired, and tired people make mistakes."
Grissom knew that Brass was right, he knew it was his exhaustion speaking, but he still couldn't bring himself to go, to leave. It wasn't his safety he was worried about, the Lunatic had already made clear that it wasn't Grissom he wanted dead, it was everyone around him.
He wanted Gil to sit by helpless as his world was torn down and smashed to pieces right in front of him. He wanted Gil to feel helpless, impotent. Grissom sighed.
Well, the Lunatic was getting his wish.
-------------
Monday – 6:51 a.m.
"Hey. Awake at last. And here, I thought I'd get to eat your breakfast."
Nick's smile was thin and strained, but there. Warrick lifted his hand to rub his eyes, changed his mind mid-air as memory hit, and instead settled for some rapid blinking.
"Hey man. What's up?" Warrick's voice was a little hoarse, but he smiled and gingerly leaned higher against the blankets.
"Well, lots. How much do you remember of Catherine's visit?" Nick looked carefully at his friend.
"Um, well..." Warrick closed his eyes, struggling to re-collect anything from the previous few days. "The last thing I remember was that I had just returned from that trip to the Penitentiary. I was going into the building, I said hi to Sammy, and then, it all just sort of... fades out. I don't really remember..." His eyes shop open suddenly and he tried to sit up.
"Sammy!" Warrick looked frantically at Nick's sorrowful face. He slumped back and sighed. "Damn. Did we at least get the basta- Greg!"
For the second time that morning, Warrick tried to sit bolt upright and failed. Didn't the saying go 'It's the thought that counts.' anyway? Nick sat back and scrubbed at his face. The night had been far too long for this.
They had all known the Warrick had been as high as a kite on the pain – and other – meds the doctors had given him, but that he'd forget everything after his own attack, well, that was difficult.
"We got Greg back. And Lindsey. Um, everyone is basically where they were when you went down. Except the Lunatic, his name is James Doyle, is now behind bars, right where he belongs. And, well, Jacqui. She... She didn't make it." Nick decided to leave it to someone else, or himself when he'd rested some, to tell Warrick the whole story.
Warrick nodded and relaxed, closing his eyes. A long sigh leaked slowly from him.
"Damn. Some days I hate this job."
Nick's inner voice silently agreed with Warrick's tired mutter.
-------------
Friday – 1:47 a.m.
"...As you can see, he doesn't look so good, does he? And keep in mind who's in the other room, happily watching Agent Cody Banks and eating popcorn. As I told Mr. Stokes, I abhor the thought of harming a child, but a cornered animal does desperate things."
The man stopped speaking, grinning silently at the camera. Grissom hoped that that was the end. His hope was crushed when the man disappeared briefly, leaving a woozy looking Greg center stage for about a minute, returning with a long, sharp kitchen knife and a large bottle of some unidentified liquid.
He stepped behind the helpless lab tech, baring the knife once more for inspection by the camera, and by extension, those now held captive by the images recorded onto the tape.
Setting the knife against Greg's cheek, he suddenly pulled back in a vicious stroke, neatly severing the gag tied in Greg's mouth and leaving a long, deep gash in his face.
He then set the knife point first on Greg's shoulder, grinning again at the camera for long moments, then thrusting the knife deep in the screaming man's shoulder. Twisting once for good measure, the man pulled the knife from Greg and moved to the side.
The audience waited breathlessly. The man, once more grinning devilishly at the camera, lay the knife along Greg's thigh. Without a pause this time, he stabbed deeply, pulling the knife clear without any fuss.
Greg's cries were heart-rending to hear, and Grissom would not have been able to watch if he hadn't felt so guilty. Yes, he'd seen far more gruesome episodes in human history, recent and otherwise, but when it was someone you cared about, someone whom you saw every day, who you helped and depended on, it was so much worse.
The man waited until Greg had stopped screaming and was merely whimpering his pain through his drug-haze before opening the bottle and dousing Greg in it.
The tape cut on Greg's shrill cries.
The room was silent for long moments, the occupants trying to assimilate what they'd seen. And heard.
Grissom looked first to Archie, paper white and stiff. When he became aware of Grissom's gaze, he quietly excused himself. Looking next to Brass, Grissom saw some of his own emotions reflected in the other man's eyes. Hate, fury, frustration – guilt. The massive burden of Guilt. He turned away from his reflection, looking to the room's last occupant.
Sara stared back, pale but composed. He saw no guilt in her eyes. He saw only the fury building up within her, fuelled by the frustration and hate.
A silent agreement was passed between the three of them. The survivors so far, the ones who had the responsibility of protecting the others around them.
They wouldn't fail again.
-------------
Monday – 7:04 a.m.
"But we did..." Grissom's voice was nearly inaudible, even to him, in the quiet room. Greg's parents still sat, lost in their thoughts. They hadn't moved in hours, and Grissom was sure that David had to have sore feet by now, but he felt it would be out of place to mention such a trivial thing.
He was relieved that neither of them had seemed to hear his whisper, they didn't know about the tape, at least, not its contents, and he wanted to keep it that way. No parent should ever have to see their child die, but to see his last, horrible, days, that was too cruel to allow.
The doctor quietly opened the door and looked around. Seeing the total lack of response, he stepped further into the room and cleared his throat. There was still nothing from David or Susan, though Grissom did look up.
"Excuse me..." The doctor's tentative words brought the grieving couple from their reverie. Smiling thinly, the doctor nodded at them, looking uncomfortable. "This is your son, Gregory Sanders?"
"Yes." Susan's voice was hoarse, and David only nodded.
"Um, well, we have some news on his condition. He's doing much better than we expected, and his chances for survival have increased."
To Grissom, those few words were a lifeline. Perhaps he hadn't failed so horribly after all. Perhaps he would live.
To Susan and David, those words were life. They had something to cling to now, no matter how tenuous it truly was, it was something. It was Hope.
"They haven't gone up much, we give him almost a one in ten chance of living the day, and less than that the night, but if he does, we give him a fifty/fifty chance of making it out the week." Looking at the two insanely hopeful faces before him, the doctor didn't wonder why he hated this part of his job the most. The parents didn't understand – or didn't care – just how small their son's chances were.
The other man though, he looked like he had expected something of the sort. He probably was a doctor, or something of the sort, mused Greg's doctor. Nodding once more, he left the grief-filled room.
He had other patients. Life did go on, after all.
-------------
Friday – 12:04 p.m.
"Gil! Gil, I think we have something!"
Catherine was dashing down the corridor towards him, clutching a small piece of paper to her chest. Grissom didn't even have time to contemplate the very un-Catherine like behaviour before she stopped right in front of him, panting slightly.
"We have a match," she said slightly breathlessly, "a credit card purchase for a part of the timing device. Small, but we've nailed cases on less than this."
Grissom looked into Catherine's eyes and saw, over and over, Greg, screaming, tied to a chair. He felt anger bubble up and quickly suppressed it. Filling it's place came a sudden wave of exultation.
"Who?"
-------------
Monday – 8:19 a.m.
Grissom quietly excused himself from the small room. He could stand the quiet beeping of Greg's life ticking away, he could stand his own guilt smothering him like a blanket, he could. He was used to that, to death, the dying. But there was one thing that he could not stand, to the point that he didn't even want to admit it to himself.
Perhaps it was his fear that had prevented him from accepting Sara's offer, even if he only admitted that to himself. Perhaps it was his fear that forced him into a self-created seclusion.
Perhaps it was his fear that kept him from calling about Sara; it was easier to just stay away. To not be connected.
As he slowly walked down the corridor, intent on the coffee machine at the end of the tunnel, he felt his mind examine his fear, as minds are wont to do. He shied away from it, for hope was the most fearful thing of all.
-------------
Friday – 1:13 p.m.
"Open up, police!" Brass' cry rang out as the two uniforms battered down the door to the small townhouse. Dropping the ram, they pulled their guns and rushed forward to clear the house.
Hanging back slightly, Sara and Grissom pulled out their guns. Catherine looked like she was ready to bolt inside, regardless of any masked Lunatics lurking in the shadows.
After a few moments, Brass stepped outside, shaking his head and frowning. "Dammit!" He punched the door and strode off to the patrol car, pulling out his radio and updating dispatch of the events.
Grissom and Sara traded looks as they holstered their guns and picked up their kits, hoping to find something of use in their case.
Three hours later, they had enough evidence to match any more samples brought in, and enough to try and match what they already had.
"Let's go." Grissom's quiet words in Catherine's ear went unheeded.
"I've got something." Catherine bent down and pulled a small hair from the rug in the bathroom.
"Cath, I know this is difficult-"
"You know squat." Catherine's voice turned harsh. "That Lunatic has my daughter, and one of my friends. He's hurt those people around me that I care about, and even though he seems to be trying to be nice to my child, he's still a murdering nut. So you'll excuse me if I'm trying to be thorough."
She glared up at his impassive eyes, knowing that they had done all they could here, and not caring in the least. She turned back to the carpet.
"I'll have you removed from the case."
"Oh, really," her voice was sarcastic, "what, you going to cite personal involvement? We're all involved Gil, and it's incredibly lucky we are that the Powers That Be haven't taken the case away from us yet. So don't go all moral on me. It's my daughter's life on the line, and I'm going to do everything in my power to get the bastard that took her from me."
She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and sagged. "Sorry." She mumbled, suddenly ashamed of her outburst. "Stressed a little, y'know?"
Gil knelt down beside her, feeling out of his depth once more. "We will get him. Lindsey will be okay, Greg will be okay, Warrick will be okay, Nick is okay."
"Yeah, I know." She sighed and dropped the hair. "Let's go and get some justice."
She smiled at him, and accepted his hand as she got to her feet.
-------------
Friday – 6:46 p.m.
"We got him, Gil." Brass stood just inside the layout room where Grissom was poring over the various bills and letter and other evidence for the umpteenth time. His heart leapt at the pronouncement, but wisdom tempered it as he took in Brass' less than enthusiastic face.
"What did he do?" Grissom's voce was steady and calm, unlike his pulse.
"He made a mistake. The one we were waiting for. He did go after another team member, Sara this time." Brass paused and stepped over to the table, opposite Grissom.
"And?" Grissom prompted.
Brass' eyes flashed once then looked regretful. "We got him, but not before he got Sara. She's not dead," Brass quickly cut off the shock that spread through Grissom's body, putting it on hold, "he didn't deliver a fatal blow, but he did get her. His knife hit her spine, they think, and they had to move her immediately to the closest hospital that could deal with her kind of injury. There was some internal damage that no hospital in the area is equipped to handle, apparently. She was airlifted about forty-five minutes ago to a hospital in Chicago."
Brass waited while Grissom processed the new information. He prepared to answer any questions about Sara's condition that he could, and any secondary questions about Doyle.
His preparation was in the wrong areas though.
"What about Greg and Lindsey? Do we know where they are yet?"
Brass shook his head. "They should be starting the interview any minute now. Doyle so far has said he will only talk to you."
Grissom nodded once and sat for a moment more. "I want to sit in." He stood up and headed for the door, Brass following.
Sighing, Brass watched Grissom stride down the hall, knowing that he had expected such a decision, and he quickly caught up with the scientist, offering to drive, taking Grissom's silence as consent.
-------------
Friday – 7:32 p.m.
"Where are they. It's been hours since you were last there, and I'm betting you have them locked up. If they starve, you'll have that many more deaths on your head. Maybe if you co-operate, we can cut you a deal."
The homicide detective was having no luck. Doyle refused to speak, except to say he would only talk to Gil Grissom.
From the steady gaze on the mirror, Grissom knew that Doyle knew he was there, knew that he was watching, waiting. And Grissom also knew that he couldn't wait for however long it would take his team to track down where the missing pair were, he needed to find them now, to know they were all right.
He did have emotions, and right now, they were screaming at him to do something.
"I'll talk to him." Grissom's eyes never left Doyle's as he spoke to the Sheriff and Brass.
"You aren't going in there alone." The Sheriff's voice was firm, and Grissom glanced at him. "You're taking Brass."
"His aim isn't to hurt me, not physically."
"I don't care. He's deranged. You are taking Brass or you aren't going at all."
Grissom knew he wasn't going to win, but he also felt that Doyle wouldn't say anything if they weren't alone. Looking at the Sheriff's face, he sighed inwardly. A stiff nod was the only answer that Atwater got before Grissom left the room, Brass following.
-------------
"So, now you have me here. Are you going to talk?"
Grissom sat across from James Doyle, Brass standing behind him in the shadows. Doyle glanced at Brass once before turning his full attention to Grissom.
"Do you remember my case? The investigation that ruined my life."
"I do." Grissom steady gaze never left Doyle's face. "Your boss was murdered. Then your supervisor."
Doyle nodded. "And you geniuses thought I did it. You pulled me in, arrested me, sent me to jail for two years, cost me my job, my marriage, my friends."
"They couldn't have been very good friends if they deserted you like that." Brass sounded sarcastic, completely pitiless.
Doyle glared briefly at Brass. "When you lot finally found some 'exonerating' evidence, finally declared the case unsolved, no one would believe I didn't do it. You scared away my wife, she divorced me, and she won full custody of our kids, my kids. I don't get to see them anymore. She moved away, across the country. I had to leave the area, everyone acted like I was a killer, I tried to follow her but she got a restraining order against me. And with that on my record, no respectable place would hire me. My life went down the drain, all because of you, Gil Grissom. I'm innocent, and you put me away for that."
Hate shone through the fury in Doyle's eyes, but Grissom didn't care in the least. Maybe, in another time and place, he would feel guilt over this man's life being ruined over a mistake, one he had made, but not after what this scum had done to his friends and family.
"You claim to be innocent. And yet you have taken two lives, and injured many more. Innocent people, who you had no quarrel with. So I don't give a damn if you were innocent or not. I don't give a damn if you think you're a justice seeker. What you did was far worse than anything I ever did to you."
Grissom stood up, his own anger now showing. "One of my lab-techs died fifteen minutes ago, and she didn't even know why you attacked her. There is a woman in hospital right now, and she may not live, and even if she does live, she will probably never walk again. You murdered a completely innocent person, a receptionist, for no reason other then your own self- involved bitterness. One of my team is in hospital, doped to the eyebrows because of your bomb. And you are holding a member of my team and an innocent little girl. So no, you aren't innocent. You are scum, a dangerous lunatic, and I don't care why anymore. You don't concern me. My friends concern me."
He leaned close to Doyle, his nose inches from the other man's face. Grissom's voice, when he spoke next, was low and deadly.
"Tell me where they are."
-------------
Monday – 10:57 a.m.
Catherine slipped quietly into Greg's room. She had seen Lindsey briefly, reassured her and told her again how much she loved her. When the doctor had shooed Catherine away quietly, she had debated going home for some rest and quickly decided against it.
Instead, she headed up to see how Greg was doing, feeling that familiar pang of guilt.
Gil sat in the same chair he'd been in when she'd left, and Nick had returned.
"How's Warrick?" Catherine's voice, just above a whisper, seemed unnaturally loud in the silence.
"He's doing alright. I told him about Jacqui. And everything. He didn't remember your visit. He's resting now."
Catherine nodded and moved to sit in a chair next to Nick. A nurse had probably brought it in seeing how many people were in there.
Silence filled the space, and a tension started to build as the beeping slowed slightly. Catherine felt her heart jump every time the next tone sounded, waiting for it to continue.
Or stop.
Nick thought he's suffocate, the lump in his throat had grown so large.
Grissom felt like he'd eaten some rocks, or perhaps some heavy butterflies.
Susan and David simply waited, silent and still. Blank.
Beep... beep... beep.... beep.... beep.........
The End
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A/N: Well, it's over. I hope you liked it, I liked writing it. I'm not sure this part was as good as the first, but I did my best. It is unbeta'd, so again, all mistakes are my own. Please R&R, it doesn't take long, and it really does make me feel that this is a worthwhile pastime.
I hope I explained everything well enough, and just in case anyone was wondering, the receptionist is Sammy, I don't think I referred to her by name anywhere except with Warrick, so I hope you can forgive me that.